Sappy, Sappy Day
So, Harry and I are 100% back together (in case you in any way missed any of the other mentions in any of the other posts.) We are happy, excited, and passionate. We are doing that annoying thing that couples do when they get together: developing copious inside jokes. No, I won’t share those jokes here; they are inside jokes. I will, however, share some other sappiness.
First, background: When Harry prays over a meal, he always thanks God for bringing such a “wonderful, beautiful woman into his life and for allowing him to spend time with her.” Now, yes, this sentiment is lovely and swee, and Harry gets an A++ in the romantic department. However, for some reason, this embarrasses me. Mostly, I think because I don’t generally think that I am as great as he seems to think I am, and I have a sneaking (and unconfirmed) suspicion that God is sitting in heaven chortling at this prayer, because He too understands that while I am not half-bad, I’m not great either.
I should also note at this point that Harry thinks I’m a little crazy. Whenever I ask him why he loves me when I am *Insert list of self-preceived flaws here*, he always tells me that he loves me because of or in spite of (which depends on the flaw) those things.
I felt bad, because he is always so romantic and sweet so I decided to start a tradition of writing and mailing him a weekly love letter. I may be one of the people who helps keep the USPS operating; after consulting with Angel and Jane, I bought lovely, feminine stationary, stamps, and a special pen. After writing a letter, I thicken my lipstick and press a kiss into the corner opposite my signature. Then, I spray it with my perfume and send it on its way. I’ve tried to time them so that they arrive on Saturdays.
This week, I decided to write him a poem, which I want to share with you, my loyal readers. This will be one of the few items from the letters that I share with you, but I hope that you enjoy it as much as he may (he hasn’t gotten it yet, and part of our deal is, I don’t want to talk about the letters, I just want him to love them as much as I love him).
Anyway, here is the poem:
“Poets Cannot Write: A Poem for Harry”
Shakespeare would compare thee
To a summer’s day.
Donne would say we by a love
So much refined.
Sidney would read love
In thy eyes.
Marlowe would ask thee to
live with me and be my love.
These poets speak, and speaking capture
Hearts and minds.
All that I write seems less refined.
For you are more than a summer’s day,
And every moment of love
Refines thee.
In more than your eyes,
I read your love—
More than your lips and heart
Define thee.
You are my love and live with me,
Though only in my heart.
It seems that poets previous
Have spoken all my words;
but for you this simple phrase,
I cannot repeat enough:
My heart is yours.
And so my love, forever flees
And I will speak apace:
I love as Shakespeare could not Write
And Donne could not
Conceive.
I love as Sidney could not Speak
And Marlowe could not
Read.
Language’s limits cannot define, cannot limit,
Cannot Rhyme, my love.
So here, simply then:
My love is yours.
So, what do you think? I know it is poorly scanned, but I never really claimed to be a poet.
May your day be sunny and brght!
Sunday
K said,
April 2, 2009 at 5:25 am
Wow.
Of course you make noises to the effect that your are “no poet” and this is “no poem,” but you are silliness itself. This is, in point of fact, a remarkably skillful poem that contains both elegance of language and true emotion. You express a sentiment which I believe many poets (perhaps all?) have spoken of: the anxiety of influence. All those weighty minds and skilled wordsmiths bearing down on you before you can even uncap your pen. (How’s that for a Freudian slip?)
Brava, my dear. This is beautiful. Sure, Harry would have been *pleased* with a “Roses are Red” type poem, but when he sees this, he will be silenced and will (I have no doubt) begin to see how much he truly means to you. Quite simply because, for you, when these poets join the conversation, you are speaking from the heart! He will know the difference (which is clear to me) between an attempt at showing affection and a peek into your soul, which this clearly is.
Love it.
K.
PS – (I apologize for all the parentheticals.) (I can’t seem to stop.) (Help me.)